


the finer things in life

by la_victorienne



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_victorienne/pseuds/la_victorienne





	the finer things in life

**title** : the finer things in life  
 **rating** : r  
 **pairing** : harvey/mike  
 **spoilers** : 2.01, "she knows"  
 **disclaimer** : definitely not aaron korsh; wish i were.  
 **writer's note** : 1,742 words set post-"she knows."  
 **summary** : Jessica tells Mike the truth.

It’s Jessica, who tells him the truth. Sitting there in her glass-walled office, every luxuriant staple of Pearson-Hardman on display for this woman, this powerhouse, this storm, and Mike is blindsided by the notion that Harvey would have gone for him, would have _left_ for him—it sends all thought of Sarbanes-Oxley or and the last time he did this right out of his head. He comes to realizing he’s staring, and he hasn’t heard a damn thing Jessica’s just said, but it’s all right because she looks at him like she knows (which of course she does) and nods her head graciously towards the door.

“Go ahead, Mr. Ross,” she says. “I’ll let you try and best me again some other time.”

“I’m keeping my job?” Mike asks, hearing himself say it, sounding young and scared and childish, but Jessica nods.

“For now,” she replies, and looks pointedly at the door. “Goodnight, Mr. Ross.”

“Goodnight, ma’am, goodnight— _thank you_ ,” he mumbles, fervent, before he flees, out into the city, shining lights still twinkling with promise. Mike throws his tie over his shoulder and cycles, breathless, through the city, weaving mindlessly through the streets until he’s at Harvey’s building, until he can trust himself to breathe.

“I need to see Mr. Specter,” he insists, only just wondering if Harvey’s there at all, if he should have stayed at the office, if he’ll even be let in—

“Of course, Mr. Ross, you’re expected. The elevator is open.”

“Are you—” _Seriously_? his mind finishes, before he clears it, shaking his head and thanking the doorman. “Clive? Right? Cool Thanks, Clive.” He leaves his bike with Clive in the lobby, and tries to breathe normally as the elevator starts to rise.

He still looks shell-shocked when the door opens and Harvey is there, sitting on the sofa with an open bottle of wine and two glasses already poured, but at least he hasn’t thrown up.  
“You survived,” Harvey says, deadpan, as if Mike isn’t standing there with his entire universe upside down around him. “Come on, kid, let’s celebrate.” He sounds less than entirely enthused, but through the fog in Mike’s brain he still knows he wouldn’t be here if he weren’t wanted, at least in some small measure. So he drops his bag and sits across from Harvey at the coffee table, and sips his wine, watching.

“You were going to leave,” he finally says, the thrum of good Merlot pulsing just behind his ears. “You were going to leave the firm for me—Jessica told me. She fired you, she said.”

Harvey’s expression goes narrow and clever and calculating all at once, his mouth tightening and quirking, a point of focus Mike can’t look away from. “I was never going to leave, rookie; who do you take me for? I don’t play if I’m not sure to win.”

Mike laughs, the edge of it a little hysterical. “With Jessica? Are you kidding me? Donna would call you on your shit right about now, wouldn’t she? You would have left for me, you would have—what? What was the rest of the plan, if you’d had to walk out?”

Harvey’s mouth twitches again, and when he turns his head to carefully, pointedly not look at Mike, the golden-tanned triangle of his neck peeking from his open collar is almost too distracting for Mike to really listen. “I would have started my own firm if I’d had to leave, or we would. I didn’t have that specific of an idea. Like I said, I wasn’t planning on needing one.”

He drinks his wine, looking out into the city while Mike sits staring across from him, slowly gaining the courage to hook his ankle around Harvey’s, make him look back, meet Mike’s eyes.

When he does, finally, he expects it to be the briefest of touches, the frisson of thrill he’d felt just a day earlier, Harvey’s fingers on his pulse. Instead, their ankles stay there, pressed together, while Mike clears his throat. “I would have gone,” he says, pressing his foot closer to Harvey’s when he’s met with the slightest of scoffs. “Harvey, I would have gone. Wherever you said you were going, I would have followed.”

To Mike’s unending surprise, Harvey’s eyes drop down to his mouth. “I know you would have, Mike. That’s why I did it. You’ve trusted me—I thought I’d have a little faith in you.”

Mike clears his throat and drinks the last of his wine. “I should probably go home, shouldn’t I.”

Harvey shrugs and resettles, but even though they’re no longer touching, the spark of tension isn’t gone; on the contrary, Mike feels fraught with it, can almost hear his own pulse jumping under his skin. He startles when Harvey speaks, and has the careful grace to look sheepish about it.

“You can go, certainly, if you like. But I did say we were celebrating, didn’t I? There’s another half a bottle we haven’t gotten to.”

Mike breathes in, and out. “You saying you want me to stay, Harvey?”

“You’ll note I said nothing of the kind.” But he pours the rest of the bottle into their two glasses and relaxes back into the sofa, his ankle carefully extended, his eyes just as carefully sliding away from Mike’s face.

All of a sudden, the entire night’s absurdity rolls through Mike like a storm front, gorgeous and warm and powerful. His job is safe, his life is safe—and Harvey went the furthest possible distance to keep it that way, going so far as to have feelings in front of Jessica. It’s more than Mike ever thought he’d wanted—or ever thought he’d receive, from Harvey or anyone, if he’s honest with himself. And now he’s here, pressing his ankle to Harvey Specter’s, wondering about the taste of the dip in his collarbone, and how deep Harvey’s mute feelings are willing to go. And Harvey calls it a celebration.

“Fuck the wine,” he says lowly, watching Harvey’s eyes flick towards him. “I mean, it’s delicious, but—” He drains the glass, eyes on Harvey. “—I think we have better ways to celebrate, don’t you?”

“You really know what you’re doing, kid?” Mike considers—Harvey isn’t mocking him or sending him out, but he’s also not jumping across the table to pin Mike to a wall—he cares, and Mike still feels it, like a punch in the gut. Yeah, fuck yeah, he knows what he’s doing.

“Harvey,” he says, and watches the line of Harvey’s throat has he, too, drains his glass, and stands up.

After that, oh god, oh fucking Christ, it’s like the world has stopped in its orbit just to watch the first brush of fingers on Mike’s mouth, the hand drifting down his jaw, tugging his chin up for Harvey’s gentle, careful kiss. “ _Harvey_ ,” Mike repeats, broken and throaty and sure. “I’m not going to break.”

“You’re right, you’re not—” Harvey hauls him up by his lapels, their mouths inches away from each other. “What you are going to do is go into the bedroom, hang up that suit, and wait for me to clean up in here.” Mike nods, suddenly hopelessly, relentlessly turned on, and presses forward for another long kiss, which Harvey allows, although Mike is held firmly in place. “Good, now go,” Harvey murmurs, pushing a little, giving himself away.

“Yeah, I’ll let you collect yourself,” Mike teases, taking off his tie. He needs the time as much as Harvey, for sure, but he’s less embarrassed by that, sure that no matter what happens tonight, Harvey is going to make him fly.

Sure enough, when Harvey finally walks in, there’s a dark calm in his eyes that sends Mike soaring. It’s so easy, so simple, so perfect, as Harvey takes off his own suit, watching Mike’s eyes. The anticipation is utterly satisfying, and Mike can’t help the groan that sighs out of him when Harvey backs him up to the bed, pushes him down, and presses down against him, chest to chest, hips to hips. Mike feels anchored, protected, safe now that Harvey has him in his arms, and he slurs as much into Harvey’s mouth, tugging at his undershirt. Harvey says something unintelligible back—is this what it’s going to be like, now, Harvey’s precision folded into Mike’s body?—and ducks his mouth to Mike’s collarbone, biting a sharp, dark bruise. It’s every sensation, it’s hands and lips and teeth and warm, golden skin, Harvey’s skin, under his hands and lips and teeth, and oh god, their boxers are off—well, his boxers, Harvey wears the most gorgeous boxer-briefs and Mike wants to devote some serious time to sucking Harvey’s cock through them later—and their dicks are sliding together, fucking into each other’s hips, and Jesus _fucking_ Christ. This is Harvey, this is _Harvey_ , this is everything he needs and he’s grasping at it, biting at Harvey’s mouth and curling his hand around their dicks and there’s Harvey’s hand too, god, and he mumbles something, a warning, a please, before arching against Harvey and coming, spectacularly, all over their clasped hands. Harvey, fortunately, isn’t far behind, kissing Mike hard and long, stiffening against Mike’s hip and sighing when it’s over.

“Jesus,” Mike breathes, after a moment. “Fuck, Harvey. Do you want me to go?”

“Don’t be an idiot. You keep an extra suit, right? Because you’re not wearing one of mine tomorrow.” Harvey pushes until Mike is rolled over on his side and spoons around him, pressing his nose into the curve of Mike’s jaw.

“Yes, of course I do,” Mike replies, tangling their legs, pleasantly sticky. “Learned from the best, didn’t I?”

Harvey’s smile against his ear is smug, Mike can tell. “Yes, you did,” he mumbles, already half asleep. Mike smiles.

Later, Harvey will poke him awake, grumbling about come on the sheets, and Mike will tease and prod at him until they can’t help but fuck again, long and luxuriant and slow, Harvey’s dick between Mike’s thighs, slick and messy and fucking gorgeous. When they finally get cleaned up Mike will try to leave again, and Harvey will frown again, and press him into the sheets with kisses until he shuts up. They’ll wake up early and leave early, and Mike will get back to work. At his job. That Harvey saved.

That’s all later. For now, Mike just drifts off to sleep.


End file.
